I Will Be There By Clive Martyn

The clock on the wall, moved slowly towards 5.45, but Jono, the angry new Head of Global Sales didn’t look like he was going to stop. In fact he looked like he was eyeing up the flipchart and the coloured pens again. It was evident now that he liked to illustrate his simple message with complex visuals and scrawled script. Everyone had got it an hour ago – sell more / the company was in the shit. (As, no doubt, was his prospect of share options and a seat on the board.)

The majority of the sales team were sat back with glazed eyes and arms folded; in fact Danny from Accounts looked like he was drifting in and out of sleep. But rather than be a sign that perhaps this meeting had gone on too long or that perhaps he should try to engage them in discussion, ask their opinion, Jono ploughed on, trying to light a fire under them, to inspire them by shouting, ranting and using words like “syngenies”, “go to market strategy” and “product offer matrix”.

Poor Bob had switched off at the first sign of corporate-speak. His flabby overweight belly pressed intermittently against his shirt as he leaned back and forth in his chair now more interested in the chair’s ability to rock than the meeting; probably imaging himself on his front porch.

Of course, I wasn’t sat back, or drifting off to sleep, or playing with my chair.

I am sure if I could see myself, I would look slightly crazed and wide eyed.

I could sense Jono’s increasing annoyance. His increasing awareness of my clock watching.

When the alarm reminder went off on my phone, I thought he was going to throw it out the window.

My heart was beating fast, stirring with panic. I needed to leave on time to get to Becky’s recital. I had promised I would be there and ever since Jan had died I had kept every one of my promises. I had to try to repair the damage of years of semi-neglect and my work spilling over into every aspect of my life, pushing away everyone and everything else.

I was trying to change; be a better dad.

It was too late to be a better husband.

But Jono wasn’t going to stop. His monologue left no opportunity for me to ask, or plead for an adjournment.

I had to leave.

Becky had been practising for weeks. She had put all her heart into her guitar solo, like she did everything. She was intense and passionate, just like her mother had been.

It was important to her.

I could not miss it.

I half-raised my hand, to get Jono’s attention but he didn’t stop speaking, perhaps fearing I would use logic (in the boardroom of all places) or perhaps highlight his own lack of experience or general incompetency.

It was rude but I couldn’t help speaking over him;

“Sorry Jono, I am going to have to go.”

“Anderson, if you get out of that fucking chair, you can pack your desk up tomorrow.”

The words and the venomous bile knocked me back into my chair.

Prick.

I held my breath for a second, frantically thinking through my next step.

I needed the job.

I really needed the job.

For a second I shrunk into the chair.

Then I realised - I needed Becky more.

Everyone but Jono was looking at me. He just carried on and picked up a pen.

I stood up, smiled and calmly shoved my papers and blackberry into my bag and unbuttoned my tie.

The room was silent for the first time in over an hour.

“Goodbye, gentlemen.” I said and walked out without a backwards glance.

...

I had to run every second from the elevator to the practice hall downtown.

I ruined one shoe, sweated until my shirt and suit were dripping and arrived close to collapse, breathing frantically. But I made it.

I was there - like I promised.

There are some moments in your life, you know you will remember forever.

Having Becky find me, see me sat there in the audience. Having her eyes hold mine - so confident and so beautiful - as she played, seemingly dwarfed by her guitar. It was one of those rare, precious moments.

Every note was perfect.

She was perfect.

Every second of applause filled my heart with pride.

After a lifetime of wrong choices, I knew I had made the right one.

Perhaps there was some hope for me.

Some hope for Becky and me.